Nose to the Wind // tomarry

Chapter 17: Your Arms Feel Like Home

When Will asked, over dinner, what Voldemort had wanted, Harry had been quick to answer, "Politics." (And, one of these days, saying 'politics' wouldn't make Will lose interest, but Harry was going to milk that for all it was worth until then.) His parents had held to that, and so talk turned to other matters.

After dinner, though, Hermione silently grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him away from the rest of his family and upstairs to her room.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, uncertain, as she peered out into the hallway for a long moment before quietly closing her bedroom door.

Hermione stared at her feet, hair shading her face for so long, Harry started feeling concerned and reached for her. She flinched away and snapped, "You're a terrible influence!" When she looked up at him, she was glaring, but there were tears in her eyes.

Harry quickly took two steps back, giving her space and holding up his hands in a show of surrender. "I honestly have no idea what I did?" he offered, because this? This was 'Ron ruined the Yule Ball' level of upset, and he really didn't know what to do with it when it was aimed at him, especially when he didn't know why.

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and ducked her head again, hiding behind her hair. "I heard," she said, quiet enough that, with even so few steps between them, a normal human would have struggled to hear her.

Harry shook his head. "Heard what?" What could Hermione have possibly heard that would make her this upset? Something Tom had said? He'd actually been well-mannered, for him. (He usually was when he visited Harry, at least to Harry's family. Which Harry appreciated.)

"You and the dark lord," Hermione said, the words sounding like they hurt, "sleeping together."

Harry blinked. "Not until next yea– Wait." He shook his head. "Hermione, for Merlin's sake, would you look at me?"

She lifted her head to glare at him, and now Harry could see it, the hurt she was channelling into anger. "Don't bother denying it, Harry Potter!" she snapped, pointing one shaking finger at him. "I know what I heard–"

"The only part I'm denying is that Voldemort and I are actively sleeping together," Harry interrupted, frowning at her, "and that's really only because Dad might actually go apocalyptic if we did. But, yes, we're...dating." And, wow, that word seemed as wrong to use as it had for someone to call the dark lord Harry's boyfriend.

Hermione's mouth snapped shut and she slumped, her outstretched hand dropping back to her side. "Why?" she whispered, sounding so much more hurt than angry.

With a sinking sensation, Harry suddenly realised where this was coming from, and maybe he should have foreseen it, Hermione developing a crush on him because he'd been the first person in the magical world who'd cared. He'd done everything he could to get his best friend back again, to boost her confidence when her first term had seen it stomped down, to give her a family and a home worth coming home to.

"I'm sorry," he offered quietly, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Harry pressed his hands together, using the faint ache to centre himself. "I've loved him since before I met you." This version of Hermione, at least.

Hermione swallowed and nodded. "I never had a chance, did I?"

"No," Harry admitted. "I'm sorry." Because the last thing he'd ever wanted was to hurt her.

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself again. "I– Can you...go?"

"Of course," Harry agreed and stepped back into a doorway that opened for him, because he wasn't going to push past her to get to the door, not right now.